Velvet Rain
by Jadeite no Miko
Summary: Late at night, cold rain falling and a spy returning from his mission.
1. First Night

Pairing: Kinda AD/SS but nothing graphic  
  
Rating: R, due to blood, not snogging (sorry)  
  
Warnings: Blood and gore, emotinal torture. This is ANGST people.   
  
Beta: eodrakken   
  
Notes: Fic began as fluff, but took a turn for the worse as I got inspired by the wonderful Zetsuai soundtrack. (Japanese boylove comic, wonderful story, great music)   
  
I even nicked the title from one of the songs, shame on me.  
  
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VELVET RAIN  
  
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"What should I do when there are no answers?  
  
I fear your hate, beyond everything in this world.  
  
Why won't you believe? Why do you still hesitate?   
  
I am at your side and yet, unreachably distant"   
  
-- Koji Nanjo, Do sureba ii   
  
It's raining. Outside my warm rooms, cold water falls from the sky in great gushing heaps.   
  
Someone called rain the tears of heaven.   
  
I have never been able to believe this. Tears are for humans, for warm beating hearts. The distant skies, the icy clouds far above us... why would they cry? For us?   
  
Stone grinds against stone as the gargoyle moves away to allow a visitor in. I should look through it's eyes to see who it is. I always do; one cannot be too cautious in this world we live in, not with so much darkness.   
  
I always do, but tonight...   
  
I still hope it is my boy, standing outside the door after too long. Sneering at my worries, scoffing at my gentle tones. Merlin, let my hope spring true tonight. Let him come home, to yell and argue and be here to hold.  
  
"Oi, 'eadmaster?"  
  
I close my eyes. How can such a warm, friendly voice cause so much pain?   
  
"Yes, Hagrid?" I gently greet my largest child.   
  
He is a great man, in body as well as heart. Even now, when all I yearn for is surly accusations, I can not feel anything but a small joy at hearing him, seeing him here... alive and well. Blessed be, that at least one of my children is.   
  
The large, bushy head of Rubeus Hagrid, Hogwarts's trusted gamekeeper, appears over the stairs. He smiles and waves at me, and I allow my eyes to twinkle at him in response. Dearest Hagrid! Your heart is a treasure far beyond what words can express!   
  
"I 'ave great news! He's back, Headmaster and' he's alive an' kickin'! Reckon Poppy'll 'ave 'im back in no time an'... "   
  
I freeze. He chatters on, about centaurs and the Forest and "the Professor" resting in his cottage, about Madame Pomfrey's excellent touch with her patients.  
  
It is rude to leave someone talking; I should know better, I do. Yet halfway through his speech, I cannot wait any longer. The stones answer my unspoken wish and I sink through the very walls of the castle, disappearing right in front of poor Hagrid's eyes.   
  
Then I am at ground level, almost running towards the edge of the forest. I hurry, ignoring the icy rain that drenches my robes. Towards my lost (returned? please, returned!) child.   
  
Carefully, because he might be sleeping, open the door, peering inside the hut. Argus and Poppy are hard at work, and I feel a curious sense of happiness - because he is here, in the bed - and intense pain.   
  
So many stained bandages, so much dark blood, and I know that, ultimately, it stains no one's hands but mine. I send him there, over and over again. Worry and fret as I may, when the summons comes, he will answer it. With my blessings, he will go.   
  
"Severus?"  
  
With my cursed blessings...  
  
----------------  
  
It was bloody painful to breathe. Hah, and wasn't that an appalling pun?  
  
Snape assumed that he had broken a few ribs, possibly even punctured a lung? Judging from the burbled quality of his breathing, it would seem so. Most likely he needed to repair, or rather replace, at least one of his kidneys as well.  
  
It was raining too. Sodding wonderful; the Forbidden Forest was bad enough on its own, without this downpour. At least it was unlikely that pneumonia would have time to catch hold before he died of his injuries.   
  
"Our dark professor is in the forest again," a deep voice rumbled from somewhere behind him. Oh bloody... Was it so much to ask, that he'd be allowed to die in peace? Apparently so.   
  
"Sod off, horseass," Snape muttered. "I'm busy. Dying."   
  
"The stars told us you would come again this night," the centaur continued, unfazed by his behaviour. Silly thing had its head too high up in the sky to even notice what was going on at ground level. "We have told Hagrid Halfgiant where to find you."  
  
"Fine. Wonderful." He coughed, deep painful coughs that tore his chest apart. Fucking hell, but old MacNair had only gotten better (or was that worse?) with time.   
  
"Get the hell out of here. Leave a dying man in peace, you filthy beast!"  
  
"Pr'fessor Snape!"   
  
He closed his eyes. There was only one man in all of Britain whose deep voice could pronounce his name with that appalling mixture of childlike happiness and paternal worry.   
  
"I'm here," he said tiredly. There really was no escape, was there? Now they'd drag him back, patch him up and put him in the dungeons. To teach dunderheaded brats *Potions*. Of all the magical arts the little shits could insult with their fumbling, why must he watch them desecrate this one? Was it a wonder that he wanted to teach the Dark Arts? He had lost any warm feelings he had ever possessed for that particular subject many years ago.   
  
"Yeh dun look so good, Professor," Hagrid said as he began the delicate task of moving a badly injured and highly irate wizard, "Rudding cowards, gangin' up on yeh like tha'... But don't'cha worry sir, Poppy'll have yeh back on yer feet in a dash!"   
  
"That's what I'm afraid of," Snape said, wincing as his bones churned against each other. No Cruciatus tonight, but a rather more menial approach on the punishment.   
  
His eyes closed and he would have cursed himself for his weakness, had he only possessed the strength to do so. Hagrid was, despite his lumbering stature and thick fingers, highly capable of carrying him through the dangers of the forest, without more than the slightest jarring. Snape fervently wished he had never had reason to find this out, but since he was in this situation, he supposed he should be grateful that it wasn't a fool like Black who had found him.   
  
On the other hand, the ex-convict would probably have been happy in assisting Snape with ending his miserable life. Tear out his jugular vein or something...   
  
"Naw, yeh'd never settle for Sirius offin' yeh, if I may say so meself, sir. Wouldn't want tah be givin' 'im the fun, now would yeh?"  
  
Blearily realising that he had been talking out loud, the Professor made some non-committal grunt and fought the darkness. He didn't have time to ramble, he had important news! Lucius's money and connections were turning more and more of the formerly neutral families. The Lestranges had finally been re-introduced to the other Death Eaters, though it would still be quite some time before either of them were of any use again. And the children, oh Merlin, they had to watch the children...   
  
"There now," Hagrid said as Snape drifted completely into oblivion. "We're all 'ere to make sure 'Arry stays safe, Professor, an' I reckon with 'Eadmaster Dumbledore and yerself, ole You-Know-Who hasn't the foggies' chance!"  
  
No answers came from the broken professor, and the half-giant carefully hurried his steps. He had long ago learnt that no matter how bad it might look, it was all right as long as Snape kept   
  
whinging. This was the main reason he always chattered on about things he knew would rile the Potions Master.   
  
Because, as time and experience had taught him, the time to really start worrying was when the surly professor fell silent.   
  
Mud squished beneath his large boots as Hagrid broke into a careful trot towards the warmth of his cottage. Snape barely stirred.   
  
----------------  
  
The house at the border of the forest was welcomingly warm and bright as the large, black dog made its way inside. He paused on the porch to shake the excess water out of his pelt, but was still dripping slightly as he came inside.   
  
It was a busy sight that met Sirius Black. Over by the fireplace, grumpy old Filch, of all people, was puttering about with cauldrons and vials. The sharp tang of boiling herbs and medical potions filled the cottage, overlaying the usual smell of wilderness.  
  
With a look of deep concentration on her face Madame Pomfrey was poking on (and in!) Snape in a way assumedly designed to keep his worthless hide out of the grave for some time yet. It looked a bit disgusting, truth to be told, to see kind old Pomfrey standing with a scalpel in one hand and a wand in the other. When she began to pry open the dark-haired man's ribcage, Sirius hastily averted his eyes.   
  
They fell instead on the third person by the bed. Hagrid, gentle Hagrid, who was allowing Snape's head to rest in one large hand, while the other held something above the git's mouth, rhythmically squeezing it.   
  
"Sirius!" the half-giant called as he noticed the newcomer. "Come 'ere, would yeh?"  
  
"What?" The Animagus carefully stepped closer, not really wishing to see more of Snape or his entrails than absolutely necessary. It was really quite difficult to hate someone while your old school-nurse was peeling him open like an onion... "C'mon, need yeh tah hold 'ere a bit. I'm gettin' Dumbledore, 'e needs to know," Hagrid continued easily, not at all disturbed by   
  
what was happening just inches away.   
  
"You want..? You want me to hold Snape while Poppy is-" Sirius shuddered. "And in here?" He looked over the homely, but far from sterile, cottage with its rough wooden walls, and the many hides and various knick-knacks adorning the walls. "Why do you think I'm boiling this up, Black?" Filch grumbled. The old Squib suddenly stood beside him, causing the younger man to jump. Still the silent, sneaky caretaker... "We'll have to wash him inside and out as soon as Madam is done sewing."  
  
Sirius felt his stomach turn at the thought of anyone jabbing about a thread and needle inside him.   
  
"Urhm, actually, I think it would be better if I ran for Dumbledore... I'll just be going, shall I?" he asked weakly and was halfway through the door when Hagrid's booming voice called him back.   
  
"Yeh can't show yerself to no-one, Sirius! Now comm'ere an' don' be silly!"   
  
Warily, Black sidled closer. Where those Snape's... lungs?   
  
As the Animagus once again bolted from the house to, quite loudly, throw up all over Hagrid's steps, Filch gave the brewing potion one last stir, and left the fire.  
  
"It's almost done, Madam. You go," he nodded at the half-giant still holding Snape, "and I'll take him. Not as if we haven't done this often enough on our own," the old caretaker muttered, the angry lines in his face for a moment deepening into sorrow.   
  
"I'm sorry." It was Sirius Black, who stood with a hand covering his eyes, shivering and dripping. "That's just-- even if it's-- I can't!"   
  
Couldn't look at anyone, certainly not that man, when he just looked as if he'd been mauled by a werewolf. Oh fuck, he didn't need to think of werewolves, blood and Snape together right now; preferably he'd never think of it again!  
  
"Then be silent and stir," Pomfrey snapped, before returning all her attention to the patient.   
  
Gratefully, the Animagus went to take care of the healing potion. It appeared almost ready. A familiar, fragrant smell of wild herbs and clear winter nights hung over the cauldron; this potion evaporated when cooling down, his memory told him, taking every unclean particle with it, both those visible and unseen.  
  
While Hagrid made his way to the castle, the caretaker had taken his place at Snape's head. The Potions Master rested in the bony lap, and Filch gently, but with precise timing, squeezed the magical bladder. Sirius dimly recalled having read about them, once, long before Azkaban and Dark Lords. To give air to those unable to breathe for themselves...  
  
He very carefully did not look at the reason Snape had to rely on someone else for his air.   
  
It felt as if no time at all had passed, when the door flung open, this time admitting Headmaster Dumbledore himself. Old reflexes made Sirius flatten himself against the wall, trying to shrink into the shadows. He needed not bother; blue eyes were trained exclusively on the abused shape in the bed.   
  
"Severus?"   
  
"He'll live, Headmaster." Poppy Pomfrey, terse as always.  
  
"No thanks to those bastards," Filch muttered. "You take over, Headmaster? I'm thinking the potion is almost finished."  
  
Dumbledore looked very old right then. Still, he easily slipped into Filch's abandoned place, not allowing as much as a hitch in Snape's breath, as he cradled the dark head close.   
  
It was a rare occurrence when Sirius felt left out of events and even rarer when he did not mind. This was one of those times, because a blind man would have seen the practised ease with which everyone else went through their movements. His chest ached as he contemplated how many times it must have happened for this macabre dance to become so well-practised.   
  
Hagrid returned swiftly and rejoined the other three in patching the professor together, not saying a word about how Dumbledore had come so far ahead of him.   
  
Snape was washed by several pairs of hands, inside and outside. Healing spells were woven with a staggering speed, the antiseptic potions fizzed, smoked and (presumably) served their purpose, masses of energy *poured* from Dumbledore into the damaged man.  
  
Finally, they were finished. The dark Animagus had not been able to do much more than hand over tools, but upon seeing how exhausted the healers were, he quickly set to work warming some leftover broth and making a pot of fresh, steaming tea.   
  
"Thank you, my boy," Dumbledore said. The old wizard certainly looked his years tonight, but he gracefully sipped the tea, unhindered by the dead weight in his lap.   
  
"I'm sorry I missed you before," he said, and Sirius felt forced to interrupt with an apology of his own  
  
"Not at all! I am the one who should be asking for forgiveness - I'm a full-grown wizard and have certainly killed before, yet I couldn't even look at..." he trailed off.   
  
What to say? Look at him, it, the wounds? How should he explain that he hadn't stomached seeing the FUCKING MESS his old enemy had been turned into?  
  
"Oh dear."   
  
Pomfrey was at his side as he swayed, the present mixing with old nightmares (memories! memories, you coward!) of Remus screaming in pain, James burning so bright and Lily bleeding...   
  
"Sit down and drink," the nurse ordered. He obediently opened his mouth and she poured a weak calming draught into him. "Better?"  
  
"Yes, certainly," he muttered after he had finished sputtering. His embarrassment bloomed again. Damn it all, he was stronger than this!  
  
"There's no shame in being horrified by the horrible, Black," a gruff voice muttered. "I know the first time we saw Madam turn the Professor inside-out, both Hagrid and myself weren't as much help as we should have been."  
  
"What Argus is trying to tell you," Pomfrey said, "is that he turned as green as you did a moment ago, while Hagrid... Well, I'll let him tell you that tale himself. I need to get back to the castle."  
  
The nurse picked her gear together and after they had both given Snape one last once-over, Filch escorted her to the castle.   
  
"Since I don't expect Snape to wake up anytime soon, why don't you entertain us?" Sirius said, in a desperate attempt to insert some levity to the situation. Maybe feeling the same need, Hagrid began to explain how he had fainted and managed to fall into one of his own traps...  
  
Albus Dumbledore sat silently in the shadows, holding his hurt child close.  
  
----------------  
  
"Twinkle, twinkle, little charm..."   
  
When the dog woke up, the first grey light of dawn was spreading through the cottage. The fire had died out and the rain had let up. It was early; not even the morning birds were singing quite yet. Then, what noise had woken him?"...like a pixie in the night..."   
  
The soft sound of a lullaby wove around Sirius sleepy mind. With a start he remembered where he was and what had happened.  
  
Hagrid had talked to him, answering questions (yes, often, too often, since You-Know-Who returned!) and telling tales (yeh would've liked Fluffy!) until they were both yawning loudly.   
  
Having given his bed over to Snape for the night, the groundskeeper had rolled out some thick blankets while Sirius had simply transformed and curled up next to the fading fire.   
  
The large dog blinked tiredly and glanced over at the bed where Snape and Dumbledore were sleeping. Had been, up until recently at least...  
  
The headmaster was sitting on the bed, with Snape lying in his lap like an overgrown doll. There was something distinctively eerie about the scene; porcelain-pale cheeks and dark, empty eyes. Snape laid slack, a marionette with cut strings.  
  
"Albus, we have to watch out for the Lestranges." In a low voice, the words poured from his lips almost by themselves and there was no emotion readable in that pale, pale face.   
  
"They are crazy but so dangerous, Albus, Bellatrix is already killing and Rabastan has a wand again. Albus, Malfoy is buying the Ministry and, and Albus, you have to watch out for the Lestranges..."  
  
It went in circles, his report. Sometimes new things, or at least variations of the old, would spout from Snape but mostly, he just repeated those words. Lestrange, Malfoy. And Potter and Granger and Weasley, because he would strike through the boy's friends, had Albus heard? He would strike through his friends and they must be guarded and Malfoy was...  
  
"Hello, Sirius," the tired-looking old man finally said, as Snape fell silent for a few heartbeats while Dumbledore poured some water into his throat.   
  
"Albus? What, I mean-" he began, not knowing how to ask without sounding horribly rude.  
  
"Conditioned responses," Dumbledore said and there was something very dark in his twinkling eyes right then. "Severus insisted. Sometimes, he brings news and warnings, upon which we must act at once." The hands were now lightly caressing the Potions Master brow. And all the while, those words came from Snape, without any detectable emotion. "We," his hand clenched, "we came too late a few times. The healing sleep... So Severus. Trained. He now speaks..." He broke off, but Sirius had understood. Dear Merlin; was the man even human, to survive this?  
  
"Go back to sleep, my child. You can do nothing to help," Dumbledoresaid, and oh, how old he looked then. Old and pained. "Rest and gather strength. The gods know we will need all the strength we can find in the coming days..."  
  
Sirius said nothing, but transformed into a dog again, closing his eyes. Sleep he didn't think himself capable of, but once Dumbledore's soft song wove around them, intertwining with Snape's empty words, he found himself drifting to the land beyond wakefulness.  
  
Only when the Animagus was unconscious again and the Potions Master had slipped into a true sleep did the old man allow his tears to fall. Holding the thin child in his arms, he showered one of those delicate, graceful hands with tiny kisses, praying and promising and knowing in his heart that not one of those prayers would be answered. That not a single promise would be kept.  
  
Because he was good and honest. Because it was wrong to sacrifice the security of hundreds for the happiness of one man and he was an old fool who was too cowardly to act and too selfish to send the temptation away.   
  
Times like this, he wished he would be a callous bastard who could condemn the unknown masses to suffering, just to keep his dear child safe. How he wished...  
  
The sun had risen and the day was clear when Sirius opened his eyes again. Hagrid greeted him jovially, but kept his voice and movements unusually silent, as he fiddled around with kindling, pots and pans. Considering the night's activities, Sirius's stomach didn't even churn at the thought of eating whatever the half-giant considered breakfast. He would down a thousand stone-cakes if only he wouldn't have to watch that horrible drama once more...   
  
Thought spurred action and his eyes were drawn to the bed where Dumbledore and Snape had last been. They were still, and the sight explained why Hagrid was tiptoeing around in his own house.   
  
Dumbledore lay on his back, chest rising and sinking in the regular pattern of the sleeper. Beside him, easily fitting in the giant's bed, rested the owner of an appallingly pale arm that was slung around the old man. Fingers stained with old potion ingredients were tangled in the white beard. Slowly, Dumbledore's hand crept up to rest lightly above that spider-thin intruder.   
  
When Sirius rose to help Hagrid, he saw the mop of black hair resting on Dumbledore's shoulder and knew he had not imagined that flighty smell of fulfilment. Even though it was mingled with the stench of pain and sorrow and weariness, it was there. Complete - for once, both men smelled perfectly balanced and rounded, as he had never sensed them before. The Animagus turned to Hagrid, whose black eyes shone knowingly. They shared something in that moment, a knowledge of something frail and wonderful that had grown in the horror of last night.   
  
"Let's eat outside and enjoy this fine sunshine, my friend."  
  
"Yeh're reading me mind, Siri!"   
  
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Review? Pleeeease?  
  
/Dancing Moon 


	2. Second Night

Rating: R, due to blood, not snogging (sorry)  
  
Warnings: Angst and very much so. Character death. Just to repeat...  
  
This is an ANGSTFIC!  
  
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VELVET RAIN  
  
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"This night is for you and I   
  
We'll never see the sunrise  
  
I'm not afraid, I believe, you're here  
  
Always by my side, it's everlasting love"  
  
-- Koji Nanjo, Zetsuai Megamix   
  
Rain was pouring down. Had the thermometer fallen just a few degrees further, it would have snowed. The thin sliver of moon could not shine through the thick clouds. Everything rested in the darkness and hushed waiting.   
  
A slight swell of magic in the air, wavering for a moment, before settling and grounding itself properly. Then, there were suddenly more creatures in the forest than before. Somewhere far off a wolf howled, and the grass ruffled as some small rodent escaped the newcomers.   
  
They were three: two men and a boy, all caked in blood and dirt and bone-crunching weariness.   
  
The boy swayed before falling to his knees, doing nothing but breathing for a few moments. In, out, in... He was alive and gratitude surged through his veins, almost chasing away the tiredness and pain. Then he moved, winced, and held his left arm gingerly.   
  
The two men had already been on ground level when they appeared, one resting in the other's grasp. They looked so alike with their pale skin and messy black hair that a watcher might have had difficulties separating them, especially in this dark night. But in one they differed - while the kneeling man shivered with cold, the one he held in trembling arms was almost beyond the cold. Warm, pulsing wetness seeped out of him.   
  
Would enquiring hands have wandered further, they would have realised that something was deeply wrong with this man. Beneath his skin, things were twisted and torn; once graceful hands now resembled burned clumps of flesh and where intense eyes should be...  
  
"I'm sorry, Black... So tired," the broken man mumbled, words barely a whisper.   
  
"We have to get you and Ron back to the castle! Don't you dare to die on me like this, you greasy git!"   
  
"Tired. Sorry."  
  
"For fuck's sake, Snape!" Desperation in his voice. "Please, Snape... Wake up, you ugly fucker! Snape!"   
  
"Sorry. Never meant to make Albus cry..." The rigidity born of pain seemed to ease and his head lolled to the side as the last word faded away into silence.   
  
In the darkness, one of his companions closed his eyes and fought tears. A smoky voice passed through his memory, one of the few moments he clearly recalled from the last days.   
  
Don't you ever dare pity me, Weasley... Pity, like regret, is for the weak and we need only strength.  
  
The other sat still for a moment, unbelieving, before roughly shaking the battered body in his arms.   
  
"Snape? God, no... Snape!"   
  
It was the desolate howls that alerted the centaurs, because certain things are too dark to be told by something as bright as the sky-lights.   
  
They brought Hagrid, and for the last time, the half-giant carried a pale, dark-haired man through the Forbidden Forest. His tears mingled with the rain.   
  
For the first time, two other wizards followed him - a hollow-eyed Animagus walking mutely, his mind far off in the past, and a shaken redhead, stumbling along and cradling his abused arm. The pain was the furthest thing on his mind in that moment, as almost seven years of scathing words and angry glares played through his memory. No words were said. Around them, the forest seemed to hold its own silent vigil, as creatures, beasts and beings of all kinds came to watch their sometimes guest leave for the last time.  
  
And for the first time ever, Hagrid was met by Albus Dumbledore at the edge of the forest. Old hands trembled as he took the still burden from the large man and the eyes twinkled no more.  
  
Cold rain fell over Hogwarts, mingling with bitter tears and dark blood. The rain soaked everyone on the grounds, be they living or dead.  
  
Tonight, Albus Dumbledore had no problem imagining the sky weeping for a lost child.   
  
-----------------  
  
Well, heck, wasn't that gloomy?   
  
And now I know why I've always avoided writing Hagrid-speech before. Hope I didn't mangle his dialect too much *blush*  
  
Please review ^_^   
  
/Dancing Moon 


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